Kaleidoscope

I never thought that loving people could take me this far.

As far as sunrise is from sunset,

that’s how far I went.

I tried.

I gave my all.

I was already this open.

I let people in.

I let them come and go,

The door was always open.

So why knock—

if you were never willing to step inside?

I offered you warmth.

I covered you in care.

You let the blanket fall,

and wiped your shoes

as if my love were only a welcome rug—

there to receive you,

never meant to be held.

January 2026.

I’m here.

I quiet the noise.

I keep the lessons.

I won’t fall in love again

unless it’s true.

—pause—

I’ve learned what steadies me.

Consistency.

Rhythm my body trusts.

Structure my mind can rest in.

By the way…

I will go alone,

as always.

Far north,

above the Arctic Circle,

as always.

To a place where the world thins out

and the light feels honest.

Then summer will carry me down south,

not always—

to clay, to discipline, to the sea.

I am married to the sea, remember?

Every morning will begin on the water,

aboard the quiet sea,

under a majestic sunrise.

A board.

Ninety slow minutes

playing with salt and balance

before the day asks anything of me.

Solitude turns landscapes into conversations.

Salt water first.

Soft clay after.

Five intense hours a day.

Focused on clay.

I love it that way.

I don’t dominate the clay.

I collaborate with physics.

After the long solo journey,

I don’t pack the same way.

A road through the south of France,

through Italy,

ending in the Dolomites—

mountains that think in straight lines.

If I meet a stranger on my way to Italy

who truly needs a heart,

and my inner knowing is clear,

I would offer my heart

freely,

and with care.